


Plan V

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Venture Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story by cobaltnine</p><p>Even Brock needs a backup plan.  But is that all it is?  (Warn: Slash, hint of iffy consent.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plan V

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dragon of Ash

 

 

"So, she..."

"Don't want to talk about it."

"I'll get the supplies." Dr. Thaddeus S. Venture shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving his coffee abandoned in front of his bodyguard. Brock snuffed out his cigarette in the dregs and stared at the door the Doc had left through. He heard him shuffling bottles around in a cabinet and swearing, but focused instead on the measured tick of the clock above the table.

A minute passed, and Brock left the room.

"Are you coming? You were later than I expected."

"Boys are sleeping."

"Yes, and they're practically on the other side of the compound. Relax. Drink something, I don't care."

He had drunk enough that night. Sobriety was creeping up on him, but it was welcome. It wouldn't do to kill Rusty. He'd nearly done that before.

"I'll be in your room," he grumbled as he passed the bathroom.

"I'll be right there," Rusty called.

Part of him hated doing this. It had started years ago; when the situation had thrown them back into each other's company, the unspoken agreement had gone back into effect.

He didn't need to throw the women in Doc's face; the sheer volume did that for him. He didn't try. He took the women because the women came, and his one challenge...well, she wasn't something he encountered even yearly. But he didn't seek them out, they came to him. They came, complaisant and soft, and they left the same way, the same night, the same hour.

Rusty's few conquests somehow grated on him; he supposed it was the way the 'two cups of coffee' were waved around like small white trophies. His failures were almost as rare as his triumphs, as he had long since ceased trying. Brock paid them little mind, except on those few occasions he himself had a bad night. On these bad nights when he had left some woman, frustrated and with the heat in his legs weighing him down, he would speed back to the compound and find Doc waiting up. In the back of his mind he called it 'Plan V.'

Years after the Plan had become an expected, if irregular, event, Brock remembered something he had read in OSI, something about history. He wasn't surprised, actually, that arrangements like that were completely common and ancient. They were usually between warriors, of course, not, well, scientists and people like himself, but it was the same principle. He might not stop going after women, but it did stop some of the awkward feelings.

It hadn't started as anything noble, of course. It had started in a drunken rage, a drunken, rejected rage.

  
  
Every college has a team it relies on; at this particular institution, it was the football team. And the players on that team, even the second-tier players, got benefits. Most professors went easier on you during the season and most girls would let their morals relax. You didn't even have to be the number one star, but having a reputation helped. How a reputation as a brutal hulk drove the girls wild was somewhat of a mystery, but it was going to remain an unexplored mystery while he reaped the rewards of it.  
  
Like all mysteries, however, there were exceptions. Donna was one of them.  
  
Donna went out with Luke that night. He found that out later. All he knew was that she had walked by after practice. That night there had been alcohol and rage and a sudden scatter of the weird kids who hung out in his room. He could have kicked his scrawny roommate - what was it, Rusty? - out, but he just didn't have it in him. Tonight he was just going to jack off and fall asleep. He dropped the bottle of cheap vodka he had walked home drinking on the nightstand and hauled himself up to the upper bunk.  
  
It had been a while since he had had to take matters into his own hands. The old techniques weren't working. He was beginning to wonder if his roommate had any porno; after all, that kid wasn't getting any.  
  
"Aren't you done yet?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm sure the girl you had last night is still around here somewhere."  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, this is just ridiculous."  
  
"You want to do something about it?"  
  
There was a pause from the voice below. He heard the scrape of glass - the bottle - and gulping.  
  
"If this will get you to shut up and go to sleep, then yes, I will do something about it." Rusty climbed up the ladder to the upper bed.  
  
"Oh, dear lord." He relaxed his fist and looked down at the redhead. His roommate had frozen at the edge of the bed, staring at his cock. He knew that look, but it was usually from some petite girl with a small rack. "I mean, I know you're a big guy and all, but this is ridiculous."  
  
He clenched his teeth and reached out for the other man, dragging him by his shoulder onto the edge of the narrow mattress. "Stop talking. Just *do* it if you're going to do it."  
  
Rusty sighed. "Are you sure y..." Brock clamped his hand down over the back of the other's head and pushed down. His roommate's lips parted, his teeth scraping his cock momentarily, until it hit the back of his throat. He pulled back on the long hair and Rusty slid back up his length. The kid tried to continue the back-and-forth motion while moving between his legs. His hand was creeping up, chill and sweaty along his leg while he poked his tongue forward and started moving it around. Brock relaxed his hand and rested it in Rusty's hair, only to grab it again suddenly as the inquisitive hand reached forwards and began to massage his balls. At that moment he forgot about anything else. Once, twice more he thrust forward and, letting out a strained groan, as he came. Rusty gulped and withdrew.  
  
"Get off my bed." He turned over, facing the wall.  
  
"You're welcome," Rusty grumbled, climbing down the ladder and massaging his jaw.  
  


  
  
Every few months something like this would happen. Considering that every other night Rusty got little sleep and Brock got another girl, one out of ninety or a hundred nights wasn't that frequent. There was nothing else in Rusty's life, just the random chance of his roommate's failure. Despite the brusque brushing-off he got each time it happened, they were the best nights for him to sleep, even beyond nights when he wasn't there at all and it was even more quiet than usual. Every few months there was a night where he got the chance to rest an arm across Brock's chest, the muscles hard and damp with the sweat of his sexual frustration, when he could weave his fingers in the blond curls between his legs and felt the firm hand on his neck. The wait was worth it. Once, Brock had fallen asleep, and Rusty waited until he was physically kicked out of the upper bunk onto the ground. The two hours had felt like only a moment, as he waited, watching the man's chest rise and fall and his fists open and clench in an awful dream.  
  
For Brock, the continuance was simple. Any stresses he had from the women, from the team, were relieved. It was reliable. At first he just pretended the kid was a chick with a bad haircut. As time went by, he stopped caring. Sex was sex, and this kid was getting pretty decent at blowjobs. Time went by, and then there was the accident. Rusty went back to nothing, and Brock went into the forces, and no one mentioned anything, if they had suspected anything at all.  
  
More time went by, and another accident; this time, it was Dr Venture who had the choice. He had enemies; hell, he had arch-enemies thanks to his father's work with the government. Given a choice of agents, the choice was simple, even if it was stammered.  
  


  
  
"Someone's been using this," Doc said, waving a metal tube in the air. "Was it you?"  
  
"No." Brock took a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans before stepping out of them. He tossed them onto the nightstand and took the lube from him. Rusty thrust his hands into the pockets of his well-worn bathrobe.  
  
"Oh, that only makes it worse. Oh," he said, looking down at the cigarettes. He glanced over at the bed and saw the extra pillow which had been thrown there. "It went that badly?"  
  
Brock grumbled once, incoherently. Rusty stretched his arms behind his head and stretched out on the bed.  
  
"Not that I mind. I used to, but I've gotten used to it," he said, preening. The robe fell off one shoulder. His bodyguard furrowed his forehead, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"Gotten used to it?"  
  
"Well, maybe there's a reason I don't have any luck with the ladies."  
  
"Maybe they can tell you're taken," he said, kneeling beside him on the bed.  
  
"What's _that_ supposed to mean? You're only in here when something tragic happens with one of those tramps."  
  
He shrugged and took the Doc's robe, throwing it over his shoulder. "How would you know?"  
  
"I'm a scientist," Rusty said, frustrated. "I know these things." He rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows.  
  
"Really." It wasn't a question. He warmed some lube between his palms and slathered it along his cock.  
  
"I'm just convenient."  
  
"So's H.E.L.P.er." The supine man shuddered, then relaxed, as a broad hand rested on his ass.  
  
"I'd like to think I'm a better bottom than that glorified toaster." Brock lowered himself in, slowly.  
  
"You talk more." He braced himself around the doctor's small frame and withdrew slightly. After all these years, he was still afraid of crushing the man in the heat of the moment. He wondered, briefly, if Doc had realized that the reason the tube looked emptier than usual was because he had been here more than usual lately. He probably didn't. He pressed on, fascinated with the way Rusty squirmed beneath him, trying to get off with his erection pressed between the mattress and his stomach. All was centered in this, in the sweet, slick press of man against man, heavy and hot. His arms shook and sweat dripped from his chin onto the arched back below. He felt his balls draw up and thrust forward and out once more, breathing hard and spilling come across Rusty's clammy buttocks.  
  
He tumbled over onto the other side of the bed. As the Doc turned over and brought his hands back down, Brock reached out suddenly, stopping him and covering his mouth. He let go after a long moment.  
  
"Wait. It's only fair." His hand moved down and made a loose fist. He kept his eyes down for the few seconds it took, looking at the head which peeked out from his broad fingers only on the downstroke. Rusty looked up, reached out and touched the golden hair he had never before been within reach of, traced the muscle in his twisted neck with one trembling finger, and came, sighing.  
  
Brock picked up a new tube on Wednesday.  
  


 


End file.
